Quiet Before the Storm
by azarathangel
Summary: Companion to 'Escape.' The lanternwielding shadow passes their hiding place, the house heavy with the scent of murder and foreboding. [BonesxBooth]


**Story: Quiet Before the Storm**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, only the scotch tape holding posters to my wall.**

**Spoilers: None**

**Pairing: Booth x Brennan**

**Chapters: One-shot companion to 'Escape'**

**Last Words: Companion to story 'Escape.' I highly recommend reading that story either before or after this one unless you like odd, cliffy endings like at the end of this story that leave way to much to the imagination, in my opinion.**

**Chapter 1: Grandparent's Day**

**Note: If you liked my other story, 'Escape,' then you should be reading this or reading this then reading No Escape or reading that then reading this. Take your pick. Please review! Cheers, Ash

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A shadow crosses the threshold of the large oaken door, interrupting the steady stream of light that seeps into the small nook from between the floor and door. Brown and blue eyes meet in the dark before the two rise from their places on the concrete floor beside the small metal drain of the utility closet. His arm brushes against her waist as he draws his gun from beneath his black coat. He steps in front of her, and she lightly places a guiding hand on his muscular back. He is tense.

She starts as the door creaks, the sound seeming to echo forever in the large house. His free hand wraps around her wrist, reassuring her that all is well. He pushes the door out again until they can exit their hiding place. He peeks his head out. After no response follows the creaking door, he gently pulls her out into the dark hallway with him. Side by side, the two begin to slink among the shadows of the hall, slowly making their way towards the dim light spilling from around the corner. She hears a snap from another room. Her companion spins towards the noise and pulls her behind him to shield her from any danger. No more sounds creep down the hall. He walks forward, and she follows closely. They reach another set of doors around the corner and continue to walk towards their destination. The clank of metal suddenly breaks the dead silence of the air and he pulls her sideways into a room.

Her cheek is pressed against his chest in the small space of the dank and musty closet, and she can hear the erratic beat of his heart. The rough concrete wall behind her keeps her close to him while trapping his arm around her back. The light passes beneath the crack of the door as the shadow passes them again. He squeezes her tight against him for a second, and she feels his lips on the top of her head. She wants to tell him. He opens the door and follows the muzzle of his gun back into the steadily darkening halls. No talking, all she can do is follow. She is aware of the threadbare carpet beneath her feet, the gray sky outside the frosted windows, and the sense of foreboding that hangs heavily in the plummeting temperature of the still air.

They round one last corner, and come face to face with the shadow.

His gun is knocked aside before he can fire a single shot. The shadow lands a blow on his neck, knocking him into the wall. She is left facing the shadow. The attacker advances and she slowly back away, her steps on the carpet light compared to the other's heavy feet as he matches her gait. She takes a second to divert her frightened gaze to her partner.

He is lying on the ground by the wall, a steady trickle of blood gurgling from the large cut above his eyebrow. The picture frame he was knocked into now lies by his head, the fragile wood splintered and the glass strewn across his body and the hallway. He struggles to rise from where he has been thrown. The man that is the shadow grins at her before turning to the door and shouting.

Another man, just as big as the one in front of her, comes crashing into the room. Her companion is almost standing, but still doubled over in pain. The new arrival runs forward with a fiery energy, and her warning shout catches in her throat as she locks eyes with the shadow in front of her. Her partner is tackled, and both of them fall to the middle of the room in a flurry of flying fists and flailing legs. The shadow stares down at her and takes another step. She continues to back down the hallway, feeling like a trapped rat. He suddenly lunges at her, and she twists to the side to avoid his grabbing hands. He oversteps her, but on the way past he manages to clip her on the shoulder, sending her reeling off balance into the railing at the foot of the stairs. Her head cracks against the hard wood and she sees stars. Regaining his own balance, he flies at her again and catches her wrists. He transfers them to one large hand of his own and kicks her legs out from under her. She struggles against his iron grip, but he just laughs before dragging her up the old stairs, each step weakening the rotten wood.

Her leg creates a new hole in the wall by the landing as she tries again to loosen his grip and get away. The peeling wallpaper of faded red flowers on a butter yellow background sticks out from the wall where her foot entered the soft wood. She cringes at the splinters that dig deep into her flesh. Twisting her head, a shot of pain runs through it, but she sees a small hall table up ahead. She manages to get her feet under her in a desperate scramble, and when they are close enough to the table she kicks it, sending the polished wood across her attacker's instep. His grip loosens slightly and she yanks her hands away. Quickly regaining her unsteady footing, she sprints down the hall. She hears his pounding footsteps behind her, the large boots pursuing her with no grace, only a mad energy to catch and destroy. She reaches the top of the stairs and bounds down the flight, throwing caution to the winds as her feet hit the weak wood and her vision swims through a sluggish fog.

She hears him break through a stair behind her and he curses. She leaves him behind and darts to the room that holds the fight between the second attacker and her partner, fearing the worst and hoping for the best. She steadies herself on the door frame and watches.

Both are on their feet, circling. Her friend holds a leg of a broken chair in one hand and the other man holds nothing. She sees the steadily increasing moonlight bounce off the metallic gun; the attacker is circling towards it. She runs forward to retrieve the firearm before he can and slides into the collapsed table it hides beneath. She snatches it and rolls to a sitting position, slowly standing as she keeps the barrel aimed towards him, her hand shaking.

A heavy body crashes into her, sending the loaded Glock spinning along with her head. Two massive hands pin her arms to her sides as her feet dangle in the air. Her back meets the tall man's vast chest when he pins her to him with one arm across her chest, restricting her breathing and effectively keeping her movement and resistance to a minimum. She raises a leg to kick back at him, but his hand flies to her throat and applies pressure. She swallows her attack.

The room is eerily still. He stares at her, angry at the man behind her and scared for her. The other man has his arms crossed over his chest and has a wide grin on his face. The shadow takes the hand from her throat and runs a thick finger along her collar bone and she represses a shiver under his cold touch. She remains motionless, three pairs of eyes on her: one worried, two hungry. His hand finds her jaw line and he traces it up to her ear. She flinches.

Worried eyes turn hard and he flings the chair leg towards the head of that houses one pair of hungry eyes. She watches the wood spin through the air and connect with the second man's head. He crumples to the floor, groaning, blood seeping from the new gash behind his ear. Her companion spins towards her and sprints forward with raw determination and fire in his deep chocolate eyes.

She is thrown to the side and an old mahogany table breaks underneath her as she becomes acquainted with the musty carpet. A loud crash reverberates through the room while dust fills the air and chunks of plaster fall. A hand grabs her roughly by the collar and separates her from the mess of wood and plaster. She is forced to her feet. She tries to run forward, to find her partner in the mess of dust, but a well-placed kick to the back of her knee sends her flying through the air again and she slides over the slick wood into the hall. She curls up into a ball and lies there, wishing only to sleep.

A picture frame smashes on the wall above her head. She looks at it. Through the broken glass she can see an elderly couple standing side by side in front of the house. Both look content, arms around each other with no knowledge of what was to befall them. The ephemeral moment of their lives plucks at her heartstrings. It is the same elderly couple that had just been murdered in this house. Their large fortune had never been used in their lifetime; they were perfectly happy with a simple farming life in an ancient house. They never met their grandchild, for his pregnant mother was murdered just after them, four lives taken for money.

Her hand finds a relatively large piece of glass and she grasps it tightly, her anger allowing her to ignore the sharp bite of the edge and the blood it draws from her palm. She turns around and locks eyes with her attacker. He is standing at the end of the hall. A motionless hand protrudes from the large hole in the wall where the dust has finally settled. She swallows her fear at the sight of him: her partner, her friend, her love. She holds the picture in the hand opposite the glass wielding palm. The shadow's face bears a striking resemblance to the elderly couple in the black and white picture she holds.

He rips the glossy photograph from her hand and lets it drop to the floor. He hits her wrist and the glass shatters next to the picture. The little shards scatter across the front of it, the moonlight bouncing off of them. Her arms are now twisted behind her back as he forces her up the stairs and down the hallway of fading wallpaper. Pushing her into the last room on the left, he shoves her across the room and shuts the rotting door, the rusty bolt creaking as it grates against the metal lock hold, sealing her life away. The sounds of fighting downstairs begin anew, and through her terror she feels a ping of joy, for her companion is alive.

Her back meets a tall table on rickety legs. He is looking at her, studying her, deciding something. She wonders if this is how the elderly couple felt in their last hours, if the mother had been standing in this very room with him across from her. She wonders who will identify her broken body when this is all over, if it will be bloodied and bruised almost beyond recognition like the three before her. She hears her heart thumping loudly against her ribs, and she wonders if he can hear it in the still air. His calculating eyes flash and he walks towards her.

"They were my grandparents." He speaks to her from the first and last time before tossing her against the rough concrete wall.

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Well, there you have it. This can go by itself, but reading 'Escape' now or whenever really puts a better ending to this so it's not a total cliffhanger. Review! -Ash 


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